


Yield!

by ChocoNut



Series: Domestic bliss in Tarth [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Can be book!canon too, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, First Anniversary, Fluff and Smut, Jaime x Brienne Smut Swap 2021, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, passionate lovemaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29354724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: “Here’s to many more years of us, my lady,” he wishes aloud, his thumb propped up against an erect nipple.“Many nights and many more mornings of making passionate love,” she dreamily adds, her hand stopping agonizingly close to his hard cock. “How would you like this day to start?”“With my wife’s mouth around my cock,” he echoes Tyrion’s dirty thoughts with a sigh.In other words, Jaime and Brienne bring in their first wedding anniversary with a game of sorts in bed.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Domestic bliss in Tarth [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1224311
Comments: 36
Kudos: 93
Collections: The Exchange that was Promised: Jaime x Brienne Smut Swap 2021





	Yield!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HNJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HNJ/gifts).



> Firstly, a big thanks to wildlingoftarth and bussdowntarthiana for organizing this, giving us all yet another delightful reason to have JB bang.
> 
> To HNJ,
> 
> Of your three prompts, I picked "Brienne decides to give Jaime a blowjob if he wants one". And since you mentioned you like to read Canon settings and Established relationships, I decided to go with this combination.  
> I hope this brings a little cheer to your day.
> 
> To my fellow JB fans, thank you so much for reading.

Jaime opens his eyes; gently blows away the sun-kissed locks that have wandered down her forehead.

The day is just beginning, and with this promising dawn, another year of togetherness greets them. Memories drift across his mind when he presses a kiss to his sleeping wife’s cheek. Insults and loathing, compassion and regard, longing and parting, vows that meant— _still do_ —more than what they sounded like—he and Brienne have, indeed, come a long way. Two warriors, two lost souls, two knights, two hearts that craved love, two idiots that took too long to realize what they really wanted.

“It was never my intention to wake you,” is his playful attempt at an excuse when she stirs, those beautiful eyes emerging from the curtains of her eyelids. Even today his heart stops a bit when he runs his gaze over her, naked except for the sheet partially covering her. 

“Liar,” she groggily scolds him; smiling sleepily, she shifts closer to feel his _sword._ “Needy as always in the morning, aren’t you, _ser_?”

His cock perks up when she calls him ser. It had taken her a while to get rid of her habit, but when she does do it these days, only in the confines of their bedchambers, though, Jaime finds it extremely seductive. The way it rolls off her tongue makes him want her even more!

Yes, he’s needy as hell for her. And she knows it only too well.

“You, _ser_ , pretend you’re immune,” he calls her out, his finger-tip drawing a delicate line down her chest. “You think you can resist me, but—” the tightening of her ribs, the clenching of her stomach tells him all. “It has been a year, wench—” he bends, his mouth hovering over hers “—and you still blush like a newly-wed maiden when I touch you.” He reaches between her legs, pushes a finger, presses another just where she likes it. “One year gone and—” 

She wriggles, her breath gets shorter, and down there, it doesn’t take him long to get her to flower like a freshly-kissed bloom. 

“One year has slipped by and you still _pretend_ to wake me up accidentally.” She jerks her hips into his hand, tilts her face up to meet him in a kiss, her fingers, like she never can resist, stroking his chest hair. “A Lannister doesn’t think twice before lying—”

“Don’t forget, you’re a Lannister, too.” He kisses her deeper, withdraws his hand. His fingers lurk around the bushy patch of hair to relish the beginnings of her arousal, embark on an upward journey, whilst hers pick a descent down his body. “Here’s to many more years of _us_ , my lady,” he wishes aloud, his thumb propped up against an erect nipple.

“Many nights and many more mornings of making passionate love,” she dreamily adds, her hand stopping agonizingly close to his hard cock. “How would you like this day to start?”

“With my wife’s mouth around my cock,” he echoes Tyrion’s dirty thoughts with a sigh, nudging closer when she’s still playfully evasive with her touch. “But since you don’t seem to be inclined towards—”

Those fingertips flutter around his balls. “Do you want me to—” those eyes tempt him to unabashedly speak his mind “—indulge you today?”

“I do, but—” He doesn’t want her to get into anything she’s not entirely open to. “I’m not sure if you—” _would like the taste of me?_ How, in other words, is he supposed to put this? “You never did offer before.”

“Well, you never asked me.”

“That’s because I—” He stops when she runs her tongue along her lower lip. “Brienne—”

“Lie back.” She swoops down over him, her long hair tickling his skin, the chipped softness of her lips caressing his throat, his nipples, the streak of hair down to his navel, but when she makes it to where he needs her, she pauses, looks at him. “But don’t you think I’m going to make this easy, _ser._ ”

This sensual declaration that hints towards both a threat and a treat gets his heart shooting up from where it’s supposed to be to where it impedes his breathing. “Have it your way then,” he challenges her, “I want you to overpower me—”

Of course, she pounces on the moment before he can blink twice.

Before he can finish, he’s pinned down by her strong body, her mouth closing on his in a slow kiss. She moves against him as her lips move against his. His balls tighten; his cock juts into her, eager to be wrapped in her warmth. But that’s not what this is about; _easy_ is not what she’s planning for him. Her tongue barges in, brushes against his, her whimpers as she runs a hand down his front, crowding his mind with visions of their bodies grinding together, thoughts that are bound to keep him awake for nights to come.

Her soft mouth around his shaft, her firm softness clamping down on his length—he wants both, wants it all. Patience has never been a virtue he’s been proud of, but for now he is hers to do with as she pleases. 

It’s almost the last straw when she massages him with her body, soft breasts squeezing into him, caressing his firm muscles. Nipples to nipples, she lies on him, hers teasing his, prodding them to hardness, and when she grinds her hips against his, a gasp escapes him, a plea, a cry of desire that’s lost in her kiss.

The message is clear—she is going to fuckin’ take her time with him.

She slides down his body at an agonizing pace, those punishing lips leaving none of him untouched, testing his resolve. She glides along, placing soft kisses, gentle bites, and when her fingertips dance around his aching cock, he feels like the sun has gone down on him for a moment. She takes him in her hands like they’ve been doing this for ages. His erection strains against her caress, and when she teases him with lazy strokes, he lurches, shards of pleasure slicing through his length all the way up to his balls.

He tosses his head back on the pillow, grips the back of her neck, the urge to explode in her mouth catching up with him, barging in and screaming at him to do its bidding. “Brienne—”

“Patience,” she coos, stretching up to seek his lips as her fingers play with his cock, tugging, releasing, sliding up, then all the way to the tip. She speeds up, and his heartbeat picks up to her rhythm, and when his breathing succumbs to her, there’s nothing he can do except close his eyes and let her have him her way.

Resistance is futile, making haste is futile, everything else is futile except to lie back and take all she gives.

She sails down his body with the grace of a mermaid. She tries to pretend she’s immune to this, that she wields better self-control than him, but her flushed breasts, the sweat decorating her skin like little dew drops lazing around on a newly unfurled rose—they give it away, betray her need, scream over the calm those blue eyes try to feign. 

Her fingers curl around his cock; she withdraws, crouches between his legs. Her eyes cross paths with his; he twitches with her need, unable to bear the heat in them. 

With a look that promises him both more agony and infinite pleasure, she leans forward and kisses the exposed head, letting her wet lips slide over it, sucking gently before pulling back. He braces himself for the full intensity of it, expecting the onslaught to smother him, but it doesn’t come all at once.

_Not easy._

She dips a finger into her slick folds, then another, then pulling out, she caresses his shaft, bathing him in her arousal. “Fuck, come now, Brienne, and get on with—”

She pushes her tongue under the head of his cock, licking away, stroking him. 

He moans, his loins, cursing her and at the same time, thanking her.

She licks and kisses, circling his head, strokes and pulls and squeezes his cock, and he twitches and tenses, relishing this torture. With dainty touches, she makes it to every sensitive spot, with the ruthless swirls of her tongue, she avenges many such agonizing moments he has brought upon her. She knows how desperate he is for her, how badly he wants to be inside her, but instead of granting him what he needs, she edges and nudges him, feeding on this marvelous union of pain and bliss.

He yelps when she takes him into her mouth, those full lips round around his girth. She hums, and he nearly breaks—the vibrations, the heat, the wetness—he groans, he sighs; it is all too much. He thrusts hard, fucks her mouth, his hand slipping into her hair to keep it out of the way. She strokes his length, gropes his balls, blood rushing to her cheeks, the glistening golden patch between her legs crying out for his attention. 

Her hands move faster, and so does her mouth, teeth gently scraping his taut skin as she continues to swallow him. His hand snakes down to the back of her neck, gripping her, guiding her head. 

His tongue between his teeth—he lets it build up. 

His fingers creep through her silken hair, cling on to what they can before the soft short strands slip away like water. He can feel the tension in her neck, can feel his belly tighten. He knows if she keeps going like this, he’s going to lose it. He makes a dogged effort to hold on; there’s something deeply erotic in putting up a fight—something that reminds him of their first and only duel where she had the upper hand but he refused to hand it to her in a platter. 

This—this is no different; he thrusts, a little more insistent, yet, resistant, but his traitorous muscles rebel, and just when his spasms are about to trample over all else and race him off to his end, she stops, pulls out.

Those eyes gleam purposefully, challenging him to defy when she bursts out with a triumphant, “Yield!”

He flexes the strands of hair streaming over his fingers. “Brienne—”

“Yield, _ser_.”

The game is over. His cock is hers, her mouth is his. 

“Very well,” Jaime concedes, ready for the burst of stars in his head when she swoops back in to finish him off.

~~~~~

  
  
  
  
  


“You were quite smug all day. You must have enjoyed having your way with me this morning.”

Brienne goes still, the hairs along the nape of her neck standing up to the intent in his voice. “Ambushing your wife when she’s just out of the bath, naked—” Tossing away the towel, she ambles over to the bed; the sight of her husband lying there, hot and heavy, his eyes brimming with need, is one she can never resist. “What do you have in mind, ser?”

“The same I propose every time.” Jaime leans back against the pillows when she approaches the bed. “The music’s still playing.” He crawls to her side, his arousal, full blown and inviting. “Might I have this dance, my lady?

Her mind winds back to that duel, and to the many they’ve engaged in behind closed doors, the freshest, the explicit vision of his twitching cock in her mouth. “You’re just seeking revenge.”

His eyes burn brighter. “Well, you did torture me enough to invite it.”

“You asked for it. You—”

Before she can do anything, his fingers grip her wrist. _Two can play a game,_ his eyes warn her, that now, it’s his turn to seek an upper hand in this duel of lust that began this morning. Before she can recover from the intensity of his gaze, she’s the one pinned down under the pleasurable weight of his body on hers. “ _You_ asked for this,” he says huskily, his chest hair scratching her the tender skin around her nipples. “Yield, my lady, for while the morning was yours, this night belongs to me.”

His breaths are uneven, his eyes bottomless pits overflowing with lust. “Yield,” he mouths again, those lips hovering over hers; she wants them on hers, wants that tongue struggling against hers. 

“Not so fast.” She grasps his back with one hand, his ass with another, eyeing his mouth in what she knows is a look that will provoke him, will entice him into tumbling headlong into this. “You know I’m not one to run away from a—”

He pins her down in a searing kiss. 

No fluttering of lips together, no dancing around, no waiting for the fire to flare up. He goes straight for the kill; there’s a heated urgency in the way his tongue teases hers, the relentless pressure of his mouth on hers reminding her he bears no interest in easily forgiving what she had put him through that morning. He rolls his hips, bites her lip, probing, searching, avenging the agony she’s put him through. He’s frantic, he’s rough, he devours her like some magnificent god who cannot be satiated. His hand fondles her breast as her cunt fondles his cock. Hot and wet, she’s ready for him; she wants the thickness of that girth buried deep in her.

Thrashing her hips into his, she pulls away. “Jaime, make love to me—”

“Not so fast.” 

She wants him to go all the way when his hand slips between her legs, to plead with him to give them both what they need, but a muffled sound is all she becomes, drowning in him as his touch hits her hot wetness. He dips lower, kissing her neck and breathing against her flesh, and when his cock wedges back into position, she wants more than anything else for him to plunge into her, to impale her, to fill every inch of her.

“Jaime—” 

“Patience,” he rumbles into her breasts, and instead of giving her parched wetness a taste of himself, he snakes down her body.

Oh, yes, his tongue is quite magical when kissing her, but whenever he does _this_ to her, _magical_ is trounced to a mere understatement. She closes her eyes, tugs at his golden mane with desperate fingers. Her hips rise, thirsty for more of the wet sweeping licks he’s attacking her with. She wants to yield, to succumb to her frustration, but when he slips an eager finger inside her, when his lips enclose her throbbing nub, she wants this sensual dance to keep going strong all night. 

A laboured breath, she lets out, when his fingers curl and explore, when they press upon the spot that never fails to jerk her out of herself. Her body sighs and sings at the pressure, sways with the storm he’s bringing upon her when he sucks relentlessly, licks mercilessly. “Yield,” he demands against her inner thigh. He presses a kiss there, then one softly grazing her folds, then a rake of his teeth that sends her shiver into him. “Give in, Brienne.” His mouth back where she’s aching for him, he resumes his moves, each an elaborate swirl or a heated kiss.

She bucks when he mounts the pressure. “Jaime, please—” 

He curls his fingers one more time, with it, bringing her to a climax that takes her breath away.

Limp and spent, she drags her trembling fingers through his hair, looks down into his eyes. He is an enticing mix of a playful tease and serious intensity. “Yield?”

Her cunt begs her to.

“I—I do.”

As soon as the words leave her lips, he’s on her; those eyes level with hers, painting before her a vivid picture that has her blushing like a maiden. 

When he’s inside her, she gasps; her breath’s no longer in her command. Trapping itself within her when he eases that familiar girth into her, it remains there, pushing against her chest. When he pulls out, it escapes in a mad exhale, and from then on, it is his to play with, every thrust demanding it dance to his tunes. 

His roaming fingers return to teasing her; he starts to rub, picking up rapidly to a rhythm he knows she can’t get enough of.

The feel of his skin on hers, heating her inside, outside, everywhere—

Nipples to nipples, they are, again—his, hard against hers, she can feel the pinch, she can feel the tension, this friction, this rubbing of soft skin against coarse chest hair, the red patches his stubble decorates her with, the scratches he would leave on her.

The hectic pounding, their heavy breathing—the sound has the blood pounding in her veins, her heart thudding uncontrollably against its confines.

But she can only breathe until he—

“Gods,” she cries, when he slams so hard that she feels like she is ripped in half. “Ja—” 

He claims her mouth; lips struggling, tongues dancing together and their harsh moans colliding—this is hunger, this is love, this is lust. 

He drives into her, shifts, maneuvers inside her, his body quivering around her, his stump pressing into her hot hard nipples.

She wants to come—she needs it like she needs air, and with one feverish plunge, with one last pinch of his fingers on her throbbing nub, he gives it to her. With a hoarse whisper of his name, she lets herself be washed away by the intoxicating waves of pleasure. One by one, the spasms come, they tear her down, and she lets them, lets the thousand pieces of her float around, each bearing his scent, his touch, his essence they’ll never let go of.

He takes in her climax, holds her still, driving in and out, stealing a moan from her every time his balls slam into her, a kiss from her to steal that moan, one to match each thrust, each getting wilder as his end creeps up on him.

His race heats up; he bolts away at a breakneck pace, his teeth meeting her soft lips, his groping fingers fiercely fondling her breast.

He thrusts in and out. He groans, takes shallow breaths, lets his fingers run amok on her skin. Sweat trickles down his throat, dots the wiry golden tendrils on his chest. He kisses her again, and again, and in between these fiery lip-locks, her name finds its way past his lips onto hers.

He’s a god— _yes_ —of passion and desire, one who makes her feel like a goddess. Brienne the beauty, she used to be known as, but this man, one day, just stormed into her life and turned around the whole meaning of it.

And she loves him.

She wants him.

She needs him, needs, until the end of her days, the way he looks at her, the way he touches her, the way he makes her moan, every stroke evoking a jerk, a sigh, the heady rush that floods her as he floods her with his seed. 

“Never thought you might, one day, end up with me, did you?” he softly breathes into her hair, his body easing away in her arms. 

She brings her lips to his ear. “Never thought I might, one day, end up feeling so loved and wanted,” she whispers, lets the scent of sex and bliss and him ensnare her senses. 

A man of his beauty, surrendering to the moment, to her—this is a dream that had been only a dream until that glorious night at Winterfell. This, she offers her thanks to the gods for, every morning and every night. This, forever, she will cherish.

This man. Her husband. She is his and he is hers. One year has raced past them, and their love has only grown.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I did picture Brienne with long hair in this :)


End file.
